


A Place To Stash My Tomarry WIPs

by Nylffn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Incomplete Thoughts, M/M, Plot Bunnies - Freeform, wips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 23:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18679084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nylffn/pseuds/Nylffn
Summary: I suddenly found a huge folder of Harry/Tom stuff that I started and never finished, I just need to put them somewhere more organized so I can see them all. Maybe if people poke at me enough I'll actually work on them. I'm marking this as explicit now because I might post bits of porn, doubt it'll be good though.





	1. Dreaming of Insomnia

“No, Ginny! You don’t understand what it’s like!”

“I understand just as well as the next person, Harry! Just tell me what’s wrong with you!”

“There isn’t a next person to know as well as! Everyone is either dead or ignoring me for my life choices!”

“Harry! Just tell me, I love you!”

Green eyes became darker than they had when the argument had first started hours ago.

“Tell you? Okay, well since you love me, I guess it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you for seeing sense, Harry.”

Harry walked up to the red head with s violent sneer look on his face, Ginny backed up in time with his forwards steps until she came in contact with the arm of the couch.

“The dark arts are a seductive thing…”

“Harry, you’re scaring me…”

“I’ve learned something, and I really am ashamed that I couldn’t have seen it sooner: there is no good or evil, only power and those too _weak_ to seek it.”

“Harry… Harry what are you saying? Y-You sound like V-Volde…”

“What? Still scared of a name? Voldemort! _Voldemort_! No one is going to hear you say his name, no cares. I killed him. And, I must say, I am truly regretting doing that; he _was **right**_!” Harry grabbed Ginny by her flaming locks, and she released a shocked exclaim.

“Harry! Stop this right now!”

“I don’t think I will. Not until _you_ see sense! Muggles are overwhelming our world. It’s been one year, _one bloody year_ , since I killed Riddle, and you know what? Everyone is still scared, everyone is still hiding in vanishing cabinets, and muggles are out there killing off our magic with _electricity_ and _pollution_ and _over-population_! It’s only a matter of time until we die as _squibs_!” with a roar of anger, Harry released Ginny’s hair and stomped towards the door. He didn’t turn around, but Ginny heard him clearly, “I’m leaving, we’re over, there was no _love_ to start with.”

Ginny screamed and pleaded for him to come back, but Harry had already opened the door and left. She was sobbing and weeping and reaching for the door, but Harry never re-opened the door to apologize and ask for forgiveness.

No, how could he? Harry Potter had just been killed by a drunken muggle driving in one of their ‘Kars’.

~X~X~X~

Harry’s eyes wriggled along with his conscious returning to him. The lids hesitantly peaked open to sweep across the place around him, but he immediately squeezed them shut again as light blinded him like lemon juice in his eyes.


	2. A cat has 9 lives, but a neko has 4.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This vaguely has porn in it. It's not very long and it's not very good.

A small, black, feline figure with a lightening blot scar etched on its forehead sauntered through the neighborhood of Privet Drive. The cat’s intense emerald eyes that glittered dangerously seemed too almost human to be on a cat, but surely too cat-like to be on a human. It stopped outside number four and mewled loudly. This annoying meowing continued on for several minutes, until a fat man came out and yanked the front door open in fury.

“Damn cat. Shoo! Scat!” the man yelled; the cat mewed sadly at the man in return, seemingly attempting to guilt trip him. Then it stood up and turned around when it had evidently given up, but just as the man was closing the door, the cat turned and bolted inside the perfectly normal house.  It was chased into the living room before it was cornered between the fireplace and the TV. The large man reached for the cat’s neck.

Then its body morphed into a more human like creature, straightening its posture so it had a straight back, though the pitch black ears stayed on his head, the tail stayed between his legs, twitching joyfully. The man had a nice frame, lithe and dangerous. His eyes remained cat-like, and the emerald shade of the killing curse, all the intent of the spell portrayed perfectly in the murderous orbs. His hair framed his face, but was messy, like he had just gone out and had gotten himself into a particularly bad fight, and was as dark as the night outside. And of course the scar that millions knew remained forever on his forehead, a link and reminder of a malicious man who was poised to kill anybody.

“Uncle, there is no need for any harm to my neck to be done. To be frank, I would prefer if you kept your grubby hands away from me in general,” the now human man said. The feline man’s right hand twitched and a wand was positioned and prepared to kill.

“Harry? I knew you were a freak, boy, but this is too outlandish for my household! I will not have your kind polluting this atmosphere any longer! Out with you! We don’t want you here!” the uncle yelled. Harry chuckled in return, and pressed his wand up to the pudgy neck.

“Oh, Vernon, I would pay to see you in the wizarding world. But for now, I will have some fun with you. **Vengeactus**!” Harry whispered. His uncle dropped to the floor, and a yelp escaped him. His body convulsed, and his jumper obtained slash like tears.

Pounding feet descended the stairs. Harry turned towards the noise, his aunt and cousin were there, standing in shock. The feline groaned.

“You’re stupid, muggle pests, you know that don’t you? **Obliviate**!”

With the Uncle on the ground screaming, the aunt and cousin looking at their house like an interesting movie set, and the cat-man back in his full cat form, the feline left.

As he walked through the streets quickly, a hand grabbed his neck.

“Wat’ do we ‘ave ‘ere? Lil’ kitty los’ in the streets, are you?” a lanky man asked; he was tall and stick-like, greasy dirt colored hair, yellowed teeth, and forgettable brown eyes. Nothing that Harry couldn’t take in his human form, but his surroundings prevented him from changing. Too many to obliviates to cast. “Bu’ you ain’t no lil’ kitty are you ‘Arry? Ats who you are, ain’t it? Lil’ ‘Arry ‘Otter. Scar’s too obvious ‘Arry. Nice ol’ _hefty_ price on your ‘ead.” Harry hissed and scratched, but nothing deterred the man. Harry was then submitted to the torture of apperating, he had never gotten used to the feel of it, and preferred to use his broom. Harry passed out the moment it stopped due to his form’s heavily nauseous state.

~X~X~X~

Bright lights awoke Harry, and he shivered. Glancing down he noticed one thing.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

He was naked.

“Now, now, young man, no need for such _vulgar_ words,” a prissy pureblooded woman tutted. Then she turned back to an audience. That’s when Harry had the idea to become embarrassed and tried to cover himself with his legs, as his hands were chained. That’s when he noticed that he was completely chained, legs spread in a way that Harry most defiantly didn’t like, showing off his most private areas, arms above his head, hanging from magically levitated chains. He squirmed on the hard ground where he was sitting, and blushed. He turned his head away from the crowd and his ears drooped, his tail came in front of him and twitched across his stomach.

“Fifteen million galleons!” Harry’s head snapped back to attention, his ears jerking up violently. Was he being sold?

“Come, come now! His bounty is over a hundred million galleons!” the prissy woman yelled cheerily. He was being sold. Harry struggled against his chains, cursing out in what many would have mistaken for cat like hisses.

**~ Damn chainss! ~** Harry hissed out in parseltongue.

“One hundred million galleons!” someone shouted. Harry struggled more.

“Shall we see how he reacts to pain? All of you seem to be shying away, I’m sure that some of you would love to get a chance at torture before turning him in!” the woman yelled. Harry paled at the thought. With his heat almost in season, who could tell what could happen if something arousing were to happen to him.

Being a masochist was truly a curse.

A whip cracked in the background and Harry moaned at the sound. Then it landed on his back. A pleasured cry left his lips when the stinging lashed at his nerves. His cock jerked beautifully for all to see. When the pleasing instrument came down on him again he groaned. His blush spread all over his body, he began to sweat, and his hole lubricated itself while clenching on thin air.

Being a neko was also a curse. Who knew you could force a heat with something so pleasurable?

As cries of delight left him, cries of prices left the bidders. All until one powerful voice rang out above the rest.

“Four hundred million Galleons.” Harry cracked one eye open to look at who had finally won. He knew they had, it was obvious to see. He had beautiful black hair framing his face, his eyes the color of blood, and the air of an aristocrat.

“Do I hear four million galleons? Going once! Going twice! SOLD!” the woman cheered. Harry yelled in parseltongue.

~ **Fucking auction! Like hell am I being ssold! Put me back where you found me!** ~ By this point Harry was sobbing, ~ **I don’t want to go to Voldemort! He’ll kill me!** ~ Harry understood that no one could hear him, but he also knew that any kind of outburst could get him into trouble.

~ **Oh, you think I don’t know that, _Harry_? **~ That voice… it belonged to his buyer. But god, that voice was so sultry when it was hissing. The attractive voice made Harry want to submit to the man. Then Harry snapped to attention.

Hissing? His buyer was hissing? He could speak parseltongue? Only Harry and the Dark Lord Voldemort could speak parseltongue.

What the hell?

“Here’s your money. I’ll just be taking him home,” his buyer said. Then the nauseous feeling of apperation was once again upon him.

~X~X~X~

 When Harry awoke he was bound to a comfortable bed. It was a beautiful jade color with black flower compliments, all silk. The pillows were soft and plush, all made of silver silk and black velvet.

“Why is it that whenever I wake up, I’m tied up?” Harry asked with a hint of irritation in his tone. He looked around the room he was stuck in. not only was the bed he was stuck in jade, black and silver, but it seemed the entire room was composed of those colors. There was a fireplace made of some sort of dark stone, likely obsidian if Harry hazarded a guess - then again, Harry never guessed - the flames green as if the fireplace had been used to make a recent floo call. In front of the fire were two elegant, black and jade wing backed chairs, the arms were silver snakes, their triangular heads had been imbedded with rubies. Bookshelves lined the sides of the fireplace until they hit the congruent walls.

The wall to Harry’s left was made up of mirrors, though the mirror wall was lined with the rare jade vine flower. From that reflection he could see the entire bed, slightly larger than a king, four-poster, but round, made of holly, jade hangings, and intricate snake carvings weaving the bed together. The wood work, and bed in general for that matter, was quite pretty. He could also see another mirror just above his head and a torch burning white on the wall beside the bed. From the same reflection Harry could see the other side of the room, but he turned his head anyways.

Roughly half of the wall consisted of windows to the sunny gardens outside, mainly consisting of laurel, jasmine, and hibiscus, though there were a few cherry trees scattered about, there was also a majestic pond (that Harry could only see half of) in the center that had water lilies and lotuses floating in it. Then where the door appeared (holly stained black) the windows stopped. The rest of the wall was jade with black lining, and nothing else.

Harry’s eye slipped closed in his boredom.

Then a hand with long, thin fingers was laid over Harry’s eyes.

He didn’t even hear the door open.

Or maybe the guy was there the whole time where Harry’s only blind spot was; the head of the bed, on the floor, on the side closest to the door.

“Hello, Kitten. I’m your new master, please do remember this, and don’t forget to address me properly,” the man said. His voice was smoother than silk, and was one of the charismatic voices that could tell you to go murder you grandparents and then relish in their remains, and you would do it with pride. His accent was British, that was for sure, but it had an erotic hiss to it, making it breathy and carnal.

The hand moved down Harry’s face so it rested under his chin. It lightly urged the chin upwards so Harry would look into the man’s eyes.

God, those were the eyes of his sworn enemy.

Voldemort.

He had been bought by Voldemort.

Or maybe he should be referred to as Tom, now. Old snake-face sure didn’t have any serpentine qualities anymore. Well, his pupils were slit, but it only made the bloody color of the eyes stand out even more.

Oh, maybe his tongue would be forked! That could be great…

_‘Bad mind!’_ Harry scolded himself.

Tom lowered his face to Harry’s, until his breath fanned over his face. It was minty, but had a faint trace of cinnamon.

“So, when does your heat start? ~ **Can I inflict it? Can I make you sstart begging like the sslut you are with a ssimple touch?** ~” Tom hissed into Harry’s ear, and then licked the shell. Harry shrived and squirmed. His breath became labored as the Dark Lord’s hand dropped lower, until it reached just above Harry’s cock. What a vicious tease. Harry whined a bit.

~ **You want me to touch you there Harry? Why should I do that? After all, you _have_ been a nuissancce ssince before you were born… **~ Tom hissed. Harry’s labored breath became more desperate, small whines escaped his throat as he tried to get the cold hand to touch him. Tom licked Harry’s lips lightly, in a way that made his already hard cock start to leak.

~ **Oh, sso I can indeed inflict your heat. You look quite deliciouss like thiss, Harry. I could ssimply… eat you…** ~ With that said, Tom started to nibble on Harry’s lips. The younger of the two responded eagerly, only to have Tom move away and tut. Something along the lines of ‘None of that,’ poked at Harry’s lust hazed mind, but all that registered was the fact that the sinful man had stopped. Harry groaned a bit, and he heard the most addictive chuckle. It was like dark chocolate.

Tom moved down a bit to bite Harry’s neck violently. Harry mewled loudly. A tongue slipped out of the mouth handling his neck to lick at the wound. It was bleeding, but that thought just made Harry squirm more in excitement.

“P-Please, more… M-Master,” Harry begged coyly. Then he was smacked across the face with a burst of vicious magic. Harry glanced down in fright, only to see Tom looking at him with a face of pure rage.

~ **You can sspeak in the tongue of the ssnakes; do not use ssuch a filthy muggle language!** ~ He hissed out angrily. Harry nodded quickly, trying to avoid more pain. Tom smirked and hissed, ~ **Good boy.** ~


	3. A Detective Riddled With Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has so many plot holes it hurts. Also, now that I've passed my yandere phase of life and actually speak Japanese, this hurts me. It's an actually fleshed out idea though, it just never took off in my head like I wanted it to. This is also posted on fanfiction.net as an actual story that never got continued.

Eleven years is a long time when you hate the people caring for you.

Eleven years is a long time when you’re an outcast, abandoned by society and those drunken people who you once referred to as parents so, _so_ long ago; that time when you didn’t even know what a parent was.

Eleven years is a long time for a person who has given up on the illusion known as life.

It’s especially long when your so-called _family_ has deemed you unworthy of their presence; unless it is to beat you, or shove you into the cupboard you call your sanctuary, or mock those who you thought had loved you, or force you to do chores that a child of your age shouldn’t be doing. It hurt when they would talk about your freakishness when they knew you were listening, or how they would chat about how stupid your drunkards of parents had been to die in that car crash ten years ago.

This was what Harry Potter’s life was like for as long as he could remember.

“BOY!” a vicious rumbling voice stirred the dust and cobwebs hanging on Harry’s ceiling, making Harry sneeze as the mix landed on his nose.

“Yes, uncle Vernon?” he shouted meekly though the door. The door to his cupboard was wrenched open by a pair of meaty hands, and little Harry came face-to-face with his ill-tempered uncle.

“Why hasn’t breakfast been made yet, boy?” he asked with rage in his voice. Harry was about to answer when a knock came at the door. The large man looked back to the malnourished child, and took hold of his hair before throwing him farther into his ‘room’. The boy’s head made impact with the wall with a sickening cracking sound that would make a lesser man wince. Heavy footsteps retreated to the front door. An almost non-existent creak of the door opening was enough for the house to go deathly quiet. At the door stood a man with a long white beard, his hair was also white in color, and longer than his beard, his blue eyes twinkled with knowledge, and his elderly form was posed in a friendly manner, but held an air of intimidation.

“Hello, would you happen to be Vernon Dursley?” the man asked. Vernon nodded and opened the door wider, allowing the man inside.

When the man came in, Vernon turned to make his way to the living room, but he didn’t make it far before a cold cylindrical piece of metal was held against his back.

“Well, I’m glad you are sir. You see, I’ve been told my some of my sources that you have been holding a kidnapped child in your house for the past ten years. His name is Harry Potter, black messy hair, green eyes, lightning bolt scar on his forehead; does this ring any bells, sir?” the old man asked.

“W-Who are you?!” Vernon screeched.

“My name is Albus Dumbledore, but that isn’t the answer to my question.”

A soft knock came from the coat cupboard under the stairs.

Surely the kidnapped boy wasn’t…

“H-Hello? Have you come to take me from here, sir?” a small voice asked from the confines of the enclosed space.

“Shut up, boy!” Vernon roared. The muzzle of the gun nudged against his back harder, and the fat man went stiff.

“You, Vernon Dursley, are under arrest for keeping a kidnapped child, and possible assistance in the murder of his parents.”

And that was how the eleven years of torture were ended for the green-eyed boy who had given up on life; and the years of training to be an undercover detective for this man had started, training to hunt down the notorious Voldemort who had murdered the boy’s parents.

~X~ Eleven years later ~X~

Japan was roughly the size of America’s California, and Tokyo alone had more than the population of all of New York City. This fact made it difficult for Harry to walk around, but made it easy for him to go mostly undetected; his height was about the same as most people around him, it was times like these that he was glad he was short. In his hand was a case that might have been for an instrument of some kind, but Harry knew otherwise. Inside the case was a small stash of black market weapons, just a few pistols really. Still, he needed to get these back to the station so he could shows the others the way to where he had gotten these.

It had been six months since he had been put on this mission and it was coming along very well. In fact, this time next week everyone he had seen wandering the black market would be behind bars; and he would be happily spending all the cash he will have collected from the job. Life couldn’t be easier.

He shoved his way through the crowd to get out of the stream of people; he had reached his destination. He waltzed in to the station and straight to the back where he knew his partner for this job would be awaiting his arrival. He was glad he had gotten to work with the eccentric little man, even if he hadn’t done any of the field work at all.

“Yo, Flitwick-san! I’ve got these guns here,” Harry said as he pulled out a slip of paper from his pocket. He waved it around a bit before sliding it over the desk to the short man in front of him. “And this – _this_ is the address of the black market where I found them. There are a few of them around that area as well, so you might want to stake out the area before you go in.” Harry set the guns down on the desk next to the slip of paper with a smirk.

“We can’t thank you enough, Potter-san. How much longer do you plan to stay in Japan for? We could always use a helping hand here at the station,” Flitwick said hopefully. Harry smiled but shook his head.

“Sorry, after I get the cash from this mission, I’m on a four o’clock plane back to London.” With that Harry waved and walked out the door, a stupid smile plastered on his face. He’d be back home in London soon enough.

~X~X~X~

The Japanese government had so graciously gifted Harry with quite the sum of money for this mission. He really didn’t need it though, he had vaults of cash left to him by his _not drunkard_ parents. Although it was nice not having to dip into his savings for his trip back to London. A good ten thousand pounds; the Japanese had been very kind and had it converted for him so he didn’t have to worry about going through the process in England.

The moment he stepped off of his plane he had been greeted by an old friend; a tall man with snowy hair and sky blue eyes.

“Well, hello sensei.” Harry greeted in English, though there was a Japanese hint in his voice and the wording wasn’t exactly English. Consider it his way of telling the man that he still had yet to get used to his mother tongue again. Dumbledore smiled warmly at him for his attempt to speak properly again after a full year of speaking next to no English.

“Welcome back, Harry. I have a request of you, if you would be so kind as to hear me out?” Dumbledore requested. Harry shrugged and trailed after his old teacher.

~X~X~X~

An hour after Harry had gotten off of his plane it was 2100 hours and he was tired. He almost fell asleep in car on the way to where ever it was that Dumbledore was taking him. He had dozed off during half of the explanation about whatever it was that Dumbledore wanted him to do.

Apparently, Harry had been recruited to be part of a special task force in London that solved crimes in a Sherlock-Homes-like way. As he had been out of the country and his phone number had been changed for the sake of international calling, there had been absolutely no way to contact him and tell him about this.

Also, on a very special note, their next mission was an infiltration of Voldemort’s forces! This was what he had been dreaming of since he had turned twelve, being able to take down the bastard that set his life into a string of messed up moments with his last living relative. While Grindelwald, a famous serial killer who had been the one to start a gang war that had the FBI on their toes, had been the one to start his trauma by forcing his parents into the heat of the fight, Voldemort had ended up being the one to actively seek his parents out to kill them. He had been the one to put a bullet through his father’s head for a swift death, and his mother… his mother fought valiantly to save his life, but she to found a bullet in her head; but her efforts gave enough time for the FBI to show up and come smashing down the doors, Lord Voldemort only had enough time to carve a lightning bolt into infant Harry’s head as his gun had run out of bullets.

Anyway, Harry was upset to hear that the position as spy for the mission was already taken by Severus Snape, a man who had a knack for vicious “potions” as many people called them; horrible formulas that could paralyze a grown elephant with a sniff, crazy brews that could cure the most uncommon of poisons, ways to drain the life out of a man with a sip. He might have been an amazing chemical mixer, but he had a personality like a bottle of his skin boiling brew; heated glares, too much sass, an unworthy amount of hate for everything with legs, _greasy_. If Harry really thought about it, he guessed he was perfect for the position as spy; he’d fit right in.

It didn’t stop him from being upset about it though.

It also hit him where it hurt to hear that ever position for that mission was filled and that he would have to do something else in the meantime. Harry was very pissed off about that, he was looking forward to killing the bloody bastard.

He didn’t stop himself from grumbling about that though, much unlike the fact that a greasy bat got the position of spy.

Soon they had arrived at their destination, and Harry had to admit that he was a bit impressed with the place. Harry had always had a liking for the Victoria Era and snakes, and this house fit his tastes to a tee; a grand piano, dark colors and fancy patterns, greens, blacks, silvers, four poster beds (Harry wasn’t sure why those were there), snakes seemed to be a reoccurring theme in the house, golden statues, and portraits. All very beautiful, and Harry couldn’t help but feel like he would live there willingly if it hadn’t been his work space.

“Harry, consider this place your home. I know that it’s a bit dreary, but we’re trying to lighten the place up. It originally belonged to Sirius Black. You remember him right, your godfather?” Yeah, Harry remembered him. How could he forget? He was the closest thing he had ever had to a parent, and then Voldemort swooped in like a crow a stole his soul away to the depths of hell. Harry held back tears, he had yet to get over his death, and had been drowning himself in work to try and forget. “You know Harry, in his will he said that after Voldemort was dealt with, he wanted to give this place to you; to live in, not to work in, of course. It’ll definitely be much brighter when Voldemort is gone.” Thing was, Harry didn’t want it brighter. He wanted it to stay like it was, he loved it like this. It seemed to sit his current personality like a wet suit.

Harry was lead up to his room. It seemed the beds were there because it had originally been a house for an old, rich family, and they hadn’t found the time to renovate the rooms into offices yet.

The moment he got to his room he shooed Dumbledore out and collapsed on his bed, desperate for a good night’s sleep. He could deal with the other residents in the house later on tomorrow, for now he wanted to sleep away his thoughts of his Godfather – even if that meant sleeping with a nightmare riddled sleep.

~X~X~X~

~X~X~X~

_An evil laugh echoed through his head like nails on a chalkboard in an empty room. His hands came up to cover his ears, but they were chained down to a heavy block of solid shimmering blood, chains of an empty night sky, and a black  fog of feathers held him down like a set of barbells over his lungs. The chains rattled and clanked together with resonating echoes in the darkness, and the laugh increased to a deafening pitch. His mind told him to scream, his mouth refused. He wanted to get out of there, to run away and cry, to face his fears, **anything**! He would do **anything** , so long as the laughing would **stop**. _

_That laugh that haunted his every move, the laugh that he had been forced to hear as a knife slid along his godfather’s throat. His eyes hadn’t been able to move from the blood dripping from the throat in front of him. When had his godfather appeared? Was he a ghost? He certainly looked like one; face pale like spoiled milk, eyes hallow, curly hair tangled in a mess of dust and pieces of stone, his body suspended but completely limp – like a hanged man. Harry tried to close his eyes, to scamper away and hide, but the chains held him still and the feathers robbed him of his remaining breath – clogging his nose and mouth choking him. He had never wanted to see those images in his mind again! He swore he would get rid of that voice to!_

_Why couldn’t he leave the past in the past!?_

_“Oh, my **dear** **Harry** , you know why… You wanted him to die didn’t you? You wanted to be alone. Don’t you remember?” the laughing had stuttered to a stop and had become an overly gleeful chuckle of words. Harry’s mind protested, his mouth flopped open and close, pants of exertion left his mouth, feathers puffed out of his mouth like smoke only to be suck back in farther down his throat, they blocked his vocal chords, grabbed at them and tugged – removing them from his body. It was almost like his throat had been slit. He sure felt that way, like he was drowning in his own blood and a pile of deadly feathers. _

_Feather-light, sharp, scary, dying, boney, rotting, smelling of dead bodies, hard as iron, soft like snake scales, unyielding. They were hands... The hands, they were everything, but yet they were barely there, he could feel them trailing down his spine, caressing his cheek, pulling his hair, scratching his throat, holding him under syrupy blood. They were gone in a momentary whisper of laughter._

_“My dear, **dear Harry** , you remember it all don’t you? Should I remind you? So you don’t forget? You have to accept the fact that you were the one to **kill** him in **cold blood**.” The laughing resumed, louder, higher, more chilling than before. He squeezed his eyes shut violently; this had to be a nightmare. Yet, when his eyes were closed all he could see was red, a deep, dark, bloody red. His eyes. **His eyes!** Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKEUP! WAKEUP, WAKEUP! WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP! NOW YOU BLASTED FOOL! _

_Finally his vocal chords regained their senses. His screams filled the air, but they were nothing more than flutters of breath compared to the laughing._

_The laugh, **his** laugh, the screeching laugh, **his pure** **nightmarish laugh** … _

_“Harry, Harry!” he laughed, oh god, make him stop! “Harry, Harry, **Harry, Harry!** ” Clawed, bony hands grabbed at his neck. “I’ll take you to him, so you won’t be so **lonely** , my dear!” Make it stop! Make him stop! The voice didn’t relent._

_“Harry, Harry! **HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!** ”_

~X~X~X~

“Harry!” He was shaken awake by familiar hands, screams scratched his throat. The hands! Get them off! He tossed and turned like a bear in a trap. His mind was only a mantra of ‘ _Get free, he’ll kill you to! Get free!’_ No, wait. These were the hands of Dumbledore, not of Voldemort, he was safe now. He forced his breathing to return to normal. ‘ _Calm down_ ,’ he told himself, ‘ _you aren’t dead yet_.’

Harry’s breathing began to go back to normal if a bit ragged. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his clammy hand and took a deep, jagged breath. His eyes were wet with tears, and his hand was shaking even as he pressed it firmly against his bright emerald-like eyes.

On shaky legs, he got out of his bed and made his way over to where he knew the door would be. He needed to get to the bathroom, fast.

“Harry, my dear boy, where are you…” Dumbledore paused when Harry look back and glared at him with fierce aggression.

“Do not say the word _dear_ around me, got that?” Harry viciously spat out the words and continued to make his way to the bathroom.

The emerald eyed boy had to lean heavily against the dark walls for support, his wobbly legs threatening to give out under him. His face was set in a firm, grim line as he trudged his way to the door just a few paces away. A small smile graced his lips as his hands hit the handle. He twisted the knob about half way before it stopped.

Why did it stop moving? Why? He needed to get in there! He needed to be able to splash some cold water on his face, force those images out of his mind with the frigid reality of the cold, the wet crawling down his neck, anything to distract him. He needed to allow his stomach to empty its contents in to the toilet; not the fancy area around him. He was feeling even worse as he struggled with the knob. Finally a click was heard from it, and the knob would move freely.

The door swung inwards. A sharp squeak hit the air as someone’s face intercepted the door.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He needed to get those bloody images out of his head.

His legs gave out from under him, and, with a hand over his aching stomach, he puked. All over a pair of ratty shoes that did _not_ belong in this fancy house. Satin slippers, or polished leather dress shoes most defiantly. These shoes… god these shoes were so out of place. Maybe they’d get replaced due to his failure to make it into the bathroom, and then the stranger would thank him. Either way, he was feeling weaker, and it was taking all he had not to fall forward on to the stranger’s shoes.

“A hand, please,” Harry pleaded in Japanese, momentarily forgetting about his current location.

“Sorry, what?” a male voice asked skeptically.  Harry looked up weakly and saw a lanky man with a head full of ginger. Harry sighed lightly before he held up his hand.

“Right, England. A hand up, please,” Harry said again, his voice still had a light Japanese accent, but it was in English nonetheless. The man nodded and grasped his hand to lift him up. The ginger began to help him to the sink when he spoke again, something more intelligent this time it would seem.

“So, Japanese, huh? What cha’ doing here? Thought only Order members were allowed here,” he asked with an almost worrisome tone. Harry turned on the faucet and ignored the redhead entirely. He splashed some water on his face and smiled lightly; there wasn’t really anything better than cold water on the face after being sick… okay so there were a lot of things that could compete for number one best feeling, but that didn’t matter; this was great for forgetting, for getting your mind off of things, allowing your mind to focus on the feeling of liquid ice running down your face instead of tears.

Once again the ginger tried for his attention.

“Oi! Answer me will ya?” he tried; Harry still didn’t find the need to respond to him. The man sighed.

“Bloody hell, you deaf or something?” the ginger asked with an annoyed expression. Harry turned around, suddenly feeling much better. His hands were like vipers striking down prey; only his hands were going for a shirt collar, not a kill.

Not this time at least.

The ginger broke out into a cold sweat as Harry held his face only inches from his own with a ferocious expression on his face. The fright in those blue eyes was quite flattering, at least according to Harry it was. Fright always meant an easy job; maybe he could take this boy’s position in the mission.

“W-What are you doing?” the boy stuttered. Harry smiled lightly.

“Oh, nothing much, just judging your character.” The hands holding the ginger up were released, and he slid down the door, shaking in his disgusting shoes. Harry tilted his head a bit and smiled. “Please, do have a nice day.”

Then Harry left.

~X~X~X~

 _‘I just have to get into the kitchen, grab something quick to eat, and get out. There shouldn’t be anyone there. Right? There won’t be any people there… I’m sure of it! Yeah! Let’s go, and do this!’_ Harry thought to himself, trying to ready himself for the chance of being in a contained space with many people.

His feet moved swiftly through the deadly silent house. It was a rather nice change from the hustle and bustle in Japan, and Harry reveled in the silence.

_‘Maybe, just maybe, there’s no one here!’_

_CRASH!_  
SLAM!  
THUD!

“SORRY, MUM!”

No, oh no; Harry’s life would simply be _too easy_ to let him be alone in his own house, for silence to reign supreme in his mind. That would be too damn easy, wouldn’t it?

No matter, he decided. He willed his legs to continue making their way to where he knew the kitchen would be. The faster he got there then got out, the faster he could return to the silence of his room. Or maybe he could just kick everybody out of the house? Was that even a thing he could do? He was the new master of the house, so why would it be an issue?

“Because it would mean I would hinder the mission I can’t go on,” he muttered to himself in vexation.

He finally had arrived at the door, and he was as conflicted as a rabbit next to a poacher. In other words, he wanted to run away at top speed and never come back to this door unless his life depended on it; there was really no questioning that fact. He could hear the loud, obnoxious noises coming from within already. He couldn’t stand loud noises.

Yet, despite his inner conflict, his hand reached for the door handle, rapacious hunger getting the better of him. His move to open the door was in vain though it would seem; as it was wrenched open by a fuming, young, female redhead. Her liquid magma-like hair shielded her eyes from his view, and obviously him from her as she ran straight into him. When their bodies came into contact she looked up, with an expression of unadulterated outrage, but stepped back all the same. Her brown eyes looked him over, her arms were crossed, and she was giving off dangerous vibes.

Harry didn’t have time for this.

“Pardon me,” he said, voice only slightly tipped with anger. The red-head didn’t budge; instead, she had the audacity to talk back.

“And just _why_ should I get out of your way? Who the bloody hell are you anyway?” she asked. God he wanted to hit her. You know that rule that almost all guys seem to live by, the one that says you can’t hit a girl? Yeah, he didn’t play by that rule.

He grabbed her arm gently, almost affectionately. Her muddy eyes widened as a smattering of pink dusted her cheeks.

“H-Hey… Let go of me…” she tried to say, but was too embarrassed that this guy was touching her arm like a long-lost lover. He smiled a small heart-melting smile.

Then, with the force of a cougar, he twisted her arm behind her back. She let out a painful yelp.

“Let me go you bastard!” she shouted. He ignored her obnoxious voice and walked to the door. He yanked the old black wood to the side so he could get in. Only after he had stepped over the threshold did he carelessly toss her to the side. She gave another yelp.

God, she was noisy even when she was trying to not show such pitiful whimpering.

A group of startled red-heads greeted him just beyond the door. A few of them looked quite angered by the fact that he had just tossed the girl to the side like an old, undesirable book. Then again, he had to disagree with that statement; he would never do that to a poor book.

Like with the tattered shoe boy, he ignored them and continued on. Food was the only thing on his mind. He hadn’t eaten since he had gotten here form the airport almost twelve hours ago. His eyes never deterred from the beautiful fridge. His hand lightly touched the handle and pulled it open with two fingers. He was quite disappointed to see that there was no fish of any sort. Cooking would take too long however, so he instead went for a can of soda and two mandarins from a red-mesh sack of them.

“Hey! Only we can have the sodas! We bought them!” a rather tall red-head shouted. Why were there so many gingers in his house?

He didn’t like gingers, they reminded him of the old and scarce pictures he had of his mother. Red hair that flowed around a perfect face with shining green eyes. Red hair that framed a face with dull lifeless eyes that once shone with brilliance. Yet, searing images of eyes scorched his thoughts. Red eyes that were unflinching towards a kill. Red eyes that flashed with glee while he watched his enemies and _subordinates_ have their skin peeled back like the rough, disgusting outer skin of a carrot. Red had always been connected with the red eyes of Voldemort and the hair of his mother who lie six feet under.

“And just who might you be?” Harry asked with disdain. The tall one looked offended.

“Why, I’m only the most important person here –“

“Got it. That doesn’t answer my question Baka-San.” The idiot puffed out his cheeks.

“What the bloody hell is a ‘baka’?”

Once again Harry ignored everyone and made his way towards the exit, soda and mandarins still in hand. Sadly, nothing was going right for him.

“Well, I see you’ve met the Weasleys, my boy?” Dumbledore said with a grandfatherly smile. Harry shrugged and moved to pass the old man.

He shut his eyes in frustration. ‘ _Why are there so many people here? Bloody hell, it’s too much, I have to get out of here. RIGHT. NOW.’_

In his temporary blindness that came from his shut eyes he ran into a body. When he opened his eyes to look at the person he ran into he wanted to scream; it was that damn ratty shoe boy again. He looked him in the eyes, moved to grab his collar, then, almost as a last minute decision, he reached for the door knob instead. The boy was shaking violently, and breathing a bit heavily.

What a coward.

Without so much as a word to the old man or the boy, he left, the door slamming in his wake.

~X~X~X~

“Dumbledore, who was that guy?” Ron asked the wise old man with a look of disgust once the green eyed man had left the room.

“That, Ron, my dear boy, is the master of the house, Harry Potter. Please remember that he has just gotten back from Japan, and will be adjusting himself back to an English life style. Japan has humbled him greatly,” Dumbledore responded.

“Humbled?” the room of redheads asked. Dumbledore nodded. “But don’t worry; he’ll be back to normal soon. Just give him a while… a few months maybe…”

~X~X~X~

~X~X~X~

_~ Number 12 Grimmauld Place~_

_~X~ 4 months later ~X~_

Harry’s feet carried him through the spacious mansion. Only one month ago had the group of redheads left for their part of the mission. Currently they were in Little Hangleton playing around near the _Dark Lord_ ’s – really, who would call him a dark lord? – hideout. Meanwhile Harry was forced to lie back at home and contemplate the uselessness of the Weasleys who had decided to overrun his life.

He could handle their annoying behavior, but only just. They dressed in rags and tatters, insisting that they were not such things; they ran amok like hooligans in _his_ house, telling him to sod off or that they were doing important Order business whenever he told them to cool down and stop making a racket. They were a lucky group of people to have first met him after he was forced to reign in his temper for six months nonstop; had they met him prior to that they might have been the bright red contrast that the house needed in the basement.

The hair, not their blood… but that wouldn’t be a bad touch either.

Harry ran a finger over the grand piano that sat in the front room with a frown on his face. Who in the world would ever let such a beauty become smothered in dust? He rubbed his fingers together to get the dust off before he sat down at the leather bench. A slim finger came out and gently pressed down on middle C. A smile tugged at his lips as his hand went up the piano to rest on A, and then his hands began to glide. A soft sonata began to fly through the air; keys were pressed with precision and the ever flowing hands of a pianist, the sounds were like gusts of wind over a stagnant pond in the silence of the house that roamed before, the smooth feel of the keys whispered under his deft fingertips, the delicate lento smoothly gave away to the fierce and sudden crescendo.

“Lyric Pieces, Book 9, Op. 68: No. 3, At Your Feet, am I wrong?”

A key was missed.

 

Hands crashed down on the keys forming a ghastly broken sound, the appalling finale to a beautiful piece.

An eyebrow was cocked, and a glare was given.

“Who are you?”

“Tom, Tom Riddle.”

“And what the bloody hell are you doing in my home? Better yet, how did you get in?”

“ _I_ let him in,” Dumbledore said from behind the handsome man who was intruding on Harry’s home. Harry scrambled to stand.

“Dumbledore, why have you brought this man into my house?” Harry demanded.

“Tom here is our new consultant. He will be staying here for a few weeks,” Dumbledore responded with a genial smile.

“Yes, but why? The house is quite for once! Can’t you send him off with the Weasleys or something; I’m sure they could use the help!” Harry exclaimed in outrage. How dare Dumbledore continue to use his godfather’s home against his wishes? The moment that they took Voldemort down Harry would kick everyone out.

“He is here because he is new. I would have put him out on the field if I had already known what he was capable of handling, but currently I don’t know. Tom Riddle will be staying here, Harry. And that is final.” Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Dumbledore had swept out of the room leaving Tom and Harry alone. Harry took this time to look over the new recruit.

He was tall… very tall; at least two heads higher than harry stood, taller than that lanky Weasley boy with the tattered shoes even. Harry had to tilt his head back a bit to look into the man’s eyes.

Red.

His eyes were red.

No…

Harry’s eyes were wide and terrified; he quickly pushed passed the man and made his way for his room.

The halls were too long; he needed some sort of solitary comfort he could only get at the end of this tunnel-like hall.

There was no light at the end of his tunnel, there never was.

His nightmares would always haunt him; nightmares of eyes, red eyes… _His_ eyes. Eyes like those of Lord Voldemort…

No, these thoughts would only plague him.

In his panic he scrambled for his door that had only just come into his line of sight. He clawed at the door and made for his bed before he sank down like a brick in a pool.

A knock sounded from his ornate door that might have line of scratches going down the outside. Harry refused to react to the soft noise and snuggled deeper into his fluffy blankets that had rescued him from his own mind. The knocked continued louder this time. This time when no response came from the pile of blankets, the door was opened from the outside.

“I don’t believe that I can properly apologize if I don’t know why you bolted off like you were being chased by hell hounds.”

“Fuck off, Riddle.” There was a weight that dipped his bed to the side making the pile of blankets shift again. “Get out of my room; I know that you don’t actually want to apologize, so I see no reason for you to stay.”

A deep, muffled chuckle landed on Harry’s ears.

“But of course I want to apologize, how else am I supposed to be your… _friend_?” The word friend was stressed like Riddle was unused to saying that word. His voice even sounded a little disgusted, like it was a necessary evil to use the f-word for his own gain. Harry laughed against the blankets slowly suffocating him. Why did he think this was a good idea?

“I have no need for _friends_.”

The blankets were suffocating him, wrapping around his body like silk chains, grappling at his neck like cold hands.

“Surely you could find use in having at least one,” Riddle insisted. He should leave; Harry needed to get out of these blankets, out of this room. No, he wouldn’t yield until Riddle left.

“Well, I’m sure there’s no harm in having _one_ friend… Lucky for you, you’ll never have to fill that position, Riddle. Get the fuck out of my room.”

A hand fell onto his leg, only the blanket separated them from skin-on-skin contact.

“Well, _dear_ –“ Riddle began to purr. Nope. This was too much.

Harry thrashed about under his blanket like a breached fish, completely desperate to get away from the hand, the words, the _eyes_. He managed to wriggle his way out of the blankets and knock Riddle off of his bed where he had been sitting. His mind was far away, hidden in a corner of darkness deep within his soul, begging for this sociological trauma to end. He punch Riddle in the nose, grabbed his collar and shoved him up against one of the bed posts, sure the designs were digging into the man’s back painfully.

“ _Never_ , say that word.” Harry dropped Riddle with dull green eyes, and heavy panting. He walked from the room jerkily, only to collapse in the doorway twisting this way and that succumbing to the seizer.

~X~X~X~

_It’s too quite._

_It could be the calm before the storm._

_No, it was the calm in-between storms._

_“No, Sirius! I want to kill him as much as you do! I’m just not strong enough!” a fourteen year old boy screamed._

_“Well get stronger!” an older man, in his mid-thirties would be about his age, with curly black hair yelled back._

_“I can’t! I’m not good enough!”_

_“Well learn to be, Harry!”_

_“NO! I hate you, Sirius!”_

_Young Harry had stormed from the Hogwarts classroom in a fury. How dare he talk to Harry like that? Didn’t he know that he was trying his hardest? He was trying his hardest, but…_

_He didn’t really want to kill his only friend, even if he had killed his parents. Could you blame him? The only one who had been nice to him, and he had known him much longer than anyone else here, knew him before he found out that he had been the one to kill Harry’s parents. It had taken him a long time to forgive Voldemort, but it had been worth it in the end. He still had a friend now, and he didn’t have to worry about losing him. Still, he would have chosen Sirius over Voldemort, if only because he was his godfather. Voldemort had never been very nice to anyone besides Harry, and Harry did value kindness, even if Voldemort was blind to it._

_Voldemort was only about ten – or was it fifteen – years older than Harry, it had been a shock to him. How a nine year old kill people without a second thought, Harry would never understand. When Harry had asked him how he could do that, he just told Harry that that was how he was raised._

_“Harry, what are you doing out in the forest? Isn’t it dangerous for you, dear?” a voice asked from behind him. Harry jumped at the voice, and swiftly turned around preparing himself to fight away any enemies._

_Oh, it was just Voldemort. Voldemort wouldn’t hurt him._

_“I-I got in a fight with Siri… Voldemort, does he still love me?” Harry sniffled, his eyes focused intently on the ground._

_“No.”_

_Harry whipped his eyes up to look into red ones faster than should have been possible for his little neck. Sirius didn’t love him anymore? Voldemort couldn’t lie, but maybe he was joking. No, those usually gentle red eyes were hard and serious._

_“But… H-He doesn’t love me?” Harry whimpered. Voldemort smiled and embraced him in a rare hug._

_“He doesn’t, my dear. Harry, I have an idea…” Voldemort cooed him through his plan, showing him only the pros should he go through with it. A silver knife with a leather grip was pressed into Harry’s hand._

_~X~X~X~_

_Harry had walked back to the castle, the knife hidden snuggly away in his waist band._

_“ **And should he yell at you again, defend yourself and brandish this knife. If he tells you to put it down –** “_

_“Harry! Harry, why did you run away? You still need to train!” It was obvious that Sirius had yet to get over his anger. Harry took the knife from his pants and held it pointed at Sirius._

_“Shut up.”_

_“Harry James Potter! Put that down, it’s dangerous for little boys to play with knives!” Sirius only used his full name when he was in trouble, but Harry simply could not let this slide._

_“I’m not little anymore, Sirius!” Harry yelled as he ran up to his godfather to show him that he had grown up to fight, just like Sirius and Dumbledore had always wanted him to. The silver knife was tainted with the same scarlet shade of Voldemort’s eyes, stained with the blood flowing out of his godfather’s throat._

_“ **Kill him in his tracks, my dear Harry.** ”_

_Sirius had wide eyes and choked on the red liquid flowing out of his mouth and neck. It was a pretty color… But Sirius didn’t love him, so it was okay to think that. That’s what Voldemort told him._

_“I love you… Harry…”_

_Wait, didn’t Voldemort say that Sirius didn’t love him? No… Voldemort can’t lie, he wasn’t allowed to. No more secrets, they would share everything, they were_ friends _! Harry didn’t have any other friends, and everything he knew came from short stories of his parents and fairytales that Dumbledore would read him when he had a nightmare. Friends shared things, they didn’t lie. Why had Voldemort told him that Sirius didn’t love him? Was Sirius lying? No, that wasn’t right either, a dead man’s last words were always true, he learned that from Dumbledore’s stories to._

_Voldemort just had him kill his godfather…_

_No…_

_He wouldn’t do that, he was Harry’s friend._

_Right?_

_Harry looked at the knife still clutched in his hand. He was a murderer, just as bad a Voldemort._

_If he was already a murderer… then what would one more kill be? He could get revenge for his godfather, couldn’t he? He could kill Voldemort, his friend…_

_Yes, that was the only option._

_One day, he, Harry James Potter, would kill his parents’ murderer and get revenge for his godfather to. He needed to train harder, Sirius was right, he was weak._

_He had to be strong to kill his ex-friend._

~X~X~X~

~X~X~X~

Peppermint assaulted Harry’s waking sense of smell. Rain battered a window like a drum near him, making his ears twitch slightly to the everlasting beat. His fingers lightly ran over the silky cloth that lies under him.

Where was he?

What had happened?

Finally Harry was able to get his eyes opened, and suddenly his other senses dulled to a meager thrumming in his mind, a thought placed on the back burner. The room was dark and mostly empty. A king-sized bed that he was currently occupying, dark green drapes covering the wet window, and a nightstand that sat under a mug of tea. The steam danced out of the mug in tantalizing white waves that dragged the strong herbal sent over to Harry. He breathed in deeply, relaxing at a familiar sent.

Why was it so familiar?

A flash of red crowded Harry’s vision and he squeezed his eyes close.

Why did he jump when he saw red?

No, now was not the time to be pondering over why things like peppermint tea relaxed him and red made him flinch. He needed to figure out where he was.

A long creaking sound came from somewhere to the left of the bed. A sting of light thickened and was cut as someone stepped inside the room. Immediately, Harry feigned sleep. With his eyes closed, his other senses once again became heightened. Footsteps approached him, slow and measured, leather on wood, a long stride.

The steps came to a stop next to the bed, and Harry heard a small, male sigh. The bed dipped and a hand lightly brushed away a strand of hair from Harry’s face. The man’s finger, for it was obviously a man despite the long slender fingers, lingered a bit too long on Harry’s old scar.

“… I’ve missed you so much, you’ll never understand, my dear…”

Tom. It was Tom.

Harry had never met a man like Tom Riddle, he would have remembered it. When had Tom gotten to know him enough that he could say that he missed him with such a fond voice?

Tom’s finger dragged down his jaw line gently… oh no. That fucking tickled. Harry let out a short giggle. A fucking giggle. The hand that had been playing over his jaw froze. All of a sudden the deftness of the fingers left and was replaced by harshness as he gripped Harry’s chin in a vice grip.

“Are you awake, Harry?” Tom whispered in his ear. The breath brushed his hair along his ear in a ticklish manner. Harry let out another stifled giggle.

Damn it he sounded like a girl!

“I think you are,” Tom said in his ear. Finally Harry gave in and allowed his eyes to snap open. Tom sat next to him, no not _next to_ almost _on top of him_. Harry hadn’t noticed the arm that had maneuvered up to his head to trap him down while Tom had been tickling him.

Suddenly his mind was a mantra of ‘ _too close, tooclose, tooclosetooclosetooFUCKING close!_ ’

Still, Tom continued to smirk on like the closeness between them was nothing.

Harry struggled about uselessly until Tom seemed to have gotten the idea. While Tom made no move to verbally apologize, he backed away and smiled an apologetic smile.

Harry bolted up and glared at Tom from his spot on the bed.

“Where am I?” Harry inquired gently. Tom raised one of his handsome eyebrows.

“My bedroom. I would have left you alone in your room after you fainted, but I thought that I should care for you,” Tom’s smirk seemed to grow, “After all, what sort of guest would I be if I didn’t take care of my helpless little host?”

Harry lunged at Tom with no warning.

“I’ll show you fucking _helpless_ , Riddle!” Harry sneered. His calloused hands wrapped around Tom’s throat like a noose. Tom was choking, but Harry wouldn’t relent.

“First you call me dear like you’ve known me for years, like fucking _Voldemort_ , then you trap me in your bedroom when I’m most vulnerable? Why the fuck should I trust you? I don’t want you in my house, so why haven’t you left yet? Have I not made it clear enough that I don’t want you here?” Harry was screaming in Tom’s face by the end.


	4. Lovely Little Creature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute sounding concept, didn't know I ever had this idea... oh the wonders of my computer...  
> Why was I so obsessed with Harry being a cat boy?

In a world where the moment you meet eyes with you soul mate you come into your creature inheritance, Harry Potter has never known a day where he had not had his fluffy ears and tail. He has been hidden from the world by his abusive relatives who make use of his instincts. The world he comes from and the one he grew up in were very different, so what will happen when he steps foot into this new world of magic?

Animaguses and creature inheritances can only be achieved by meeting eyes with your soul mate. Harry Potter, an eleven year old boy who has never known a day without his ears and tail, is thrown into a world where magic is okay, and his relatives can’t touch him. This strange new world is vastly different from the world Harry grew up in, so how will he react to all these new faces? And just what is that noise that has been whispering to him throughout his life?

~X~X~X~

“Boy, I said no the last time you asked,” a beefy man said to a young messy haired boy. The man had a mustache, and if you were to be kind it would be the first thing you would notice about him; if you weren’t kind you would immediately take note of the roundness about his figure. Vernon Dursley was often compared to a walrus by the young boy after seeing one in a discarded book about the animal kingdom.

The young boy on the other hand was known as Harry Potter, and there were many things that might draw your eyes first. Perhaps it was his striking green eyes; or maybe his messy black hair that framed his face like the picture of innocence – then again his hair was often obscured by a hat of some sort – then again his thin-for-his-age frame could be noticed by kindred hearts that felt pity for a boy who might have been starved. Yet, one feature that many people couldn’t get over was the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

“Please, Uncle! I don’t like wearing hats!” the boy exclaimed. His uncle dragged him over to the bathroom. There he gripped the boy’s baseball cap and ripped it off of his head. Harry’s hair sprung up, stubbornly defying gravity. But that is not the only thing that had sprung up. A pair of fluffy black cat ears rested on his head, almost blending in with his hair, they twitched and wiggled as noises that Vernon couldn’t hear were made.

“This, Freak, is why you must always wear a hat. Your ears will _always_ be covered. Same goes for that… for that damn _tail_ of yours, Freak.” Harry shuffled his feet and looked down in shame. He snatched the hat out of his uncle’s meaty fist and pulled it down over his ears.

“Fine,” he whimpered. Harry stormed out of the bathroom, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks. From that day forward, Harry had never taken off his hat in front of anybody.

~X~ Four Years Later ~X~

“Do you really have that scar?” asked an annoying red headed boy. Harry nodded but made no move to take off his hat or move his hair out of the way of his scar. The red head motioned for him to continue.

“Well, I’m not going to just show it to anyone who asks. Who are you anyways?” Harry asked with narrowed eyes; someone who wanted him to remove his hat obviously couldn’t be a good person.

“Oh, sorry. Ron, Ron Weasley,” Ron said with a stiff smile. Harry scoffed and looked out of the window, watching as the trees and pastures zipped passed the train. The scene seemed like a painting made of only streaks of golden yellows, light greens, and little red dots. Harry’s eyes had just begun to droop when suddenly a hand came into his blurry vision. Next thing he knew, a cold blast of air hit his twitching ears.

Harry shot up out of his seat and grabbed both of Ron’s wrists. Due to his momentum they were knocked to the floor, Harry on top of the quivering Weasley. Harry hissed at the boy and his pupils slowly retracted to become slit like a cat’s.

Just as Harry was raising his hand to punch the poor lad, the compartment door opened. Blazing green eyes looked into light grey eyes.

“Look at this. It would seem that the rumors were right; Harry Potter is on the train. Looks like he’s found his soul mate already, sorry Weasley, but we’ll be borrowing the Cat-Who-Lived for a while. It seems he needs some alone time,” said the grey-eyed boy. Harry looked at him suspiciously before nodding.

Harry yanked the hat out of the clammy hands and put it back on over his ears and left the compartment.

~X~X~X~

“I heard that we have to fight a troll!”

“Come on, it’ll be a test. It’s always a test!”

“A test? I didn’t have time to study!”

Harry stood with his hands behind his back in silence. The other kids were making him anxious and he was fidgeting a bit with his tail. Suddenly a hand comes out to shake his shoulder.

“Potter, you know that in the wizarding world it’s a huge thing to meet your soul mate right? You shouldn’t be so ashamed of those ears.” Harry looked right into Draco Malfoy’s eyes. Just as he opened his mouth to ask what he was talking about the doors opened and out came a strict looking woman.


	5. No name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Drarry. But Tom is not in it, he was going to be latter on, but the plot I gave myself isn't helping me figure out how. Like, maybe Tom would make Harry a death eater, I dunno. I just know that the goal was to set a background for Harry to be raised by a dark family that honestly loved him and nurtured him. This was definitely meant to, at some point, turn into porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom is a vampire, Harry is his prey. Harry can’t swim so when he falls into a river Tom saves him, and Harry willingly gives him his blood. Both become terribly aroused because of this. Tom goes a bit power crazy because Harry has powerful blood due to his strong magic.  
> “Your blood is in me, I can feel it. God, I want more!”  
> This was in the header of the document, so I feel like that's where it was supposed to go.

The heavy rain set the dismal mood in Diagon Alley, the faint lights from store windows were the only things keeping the heavy darkness away, the constant crashes of thunder and violent streaks of lightning would cast a frightening light over the Alley only allowing the Darkness to play with people’s mind even more. Walking down the Alley in the pouring rain was a single, tall, hooded figure. The figure seemed unaffected by the rain, the scent of blood wafted around its body, and strange hissing resonated as it walked. Lightning lashed the landscape illuminating the face under the hood just enough to see an obviously male, straight, aristocratic nose, and narrowed, bloody eyes.

A small child barreled out of one of the warm shops that childishly tried to keep the darkness away. The child ran right into the man who seemed to be one with the looming shadows of the night. The young boy looked up and squeaked in fright at the glimpse of the man’s face. When the boy tried to make an escape for a nearby shop the man wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Hello,” the man purred, “Would you like to come with me?” he asked. The man forced the child to look into the bloody eyes, foretelling the bloodshed that he had committed. The beautifully violent, swirling red of the man’s eyes hypnotized the child’s idle brain.

“N-N… Yes,” the child said, his voice was hazy and awed. With a deceiving smile, the man led the child into a darker corner of the alley. The man nuzzled the small boy’s neck with a content purr.

“You smell simply divine. Very powerful blood you have running through those little veins,” the man said slowly. First a smooth tongue ran over the skin of the boy’s pale neck, and then sharp teeth struck the boy’s neck like a serpent attacking its prey.

The boy’s pale complexion soon became a snowy white color that only the dead seemed to have. The body fell to the ground when the sharp teeth dislodged themselves from the gory neck.

Another streak of lightning flashed, and another glimpse under the hood was seen. A sophisticatedly aristocratic face was for all to see, the harsh shadows of the light making it intimidating, the previously bloody eyes glowed brightly of ruby, the mouth was smeared with blood and smirking, black hair framed the face flawlessly in straight locks of perfection.

This was obviously not someone to mess with.

~X~ Two years later ~X~

“Aunt Petunia! Aunt Petunia! Look, look! A letter! Somebody sent me a letter!” A scrawny woman with a horse-like face glanced sideways at a six year old boy with dazzling emerald eyes, and messy black hair. The boy, known by his uncle, Vernon, as boy, and by his cousin as freak, had a peculiar scar on his head in the shape of a lightning bolt.

His uncle said he got the scar from a car crash with his drunken parents.

His cousin said it was from being too weak to defend himself.

Anyone who didn’t know Dudley, his cousin, well agreed with his uncle.

Anyone was not including his aunt, of course.

His aunt had told him his parents were murdered by an evil man during a secret war being fought by magical beings, and that he escaped as a babe, with nothing but a small scar on his head while the most evil man in the world perished.

He believed his uncle of course. Yet, that didn’t stop him from wanting to believe his aunt.

Whereas his uncle was rude and a bully, his aunt was soft and kind… when she wasn’t around his uncle. Whereas his cousin beat him, she gave him small snacks to hide in his cupboard.

Yes, you read correctly, he rested in a small cupboard under the stairs that would soon be too small for even his small structure.

He would be denied food for weeks on end, and only his aunt’s snacks that she’d smuggled him would get him through the weeks that he was forced to endure.

“It’s addressed to me! ‘To: Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived’. Auntie, do you get the last part? Who’s the Boy-Who-Lived? Is it not really for me? Auntie?”  the small boy asked, his expression steadily falling.

“W-who is it from, Harry?” his aunt stuttered. Strange, Harry thought, his aunt didn’t stutter often.

“Say’s it’s from D-Draaay-“ he stared at the paper more intently, trying to read the fancy looking name scrawled on the paper in overly loopy letters, “Draa-c-co… Dreco! Dreco,” he nodded with confidence here, “Mou… Mouth-oy…?” he asked. His aunt held out a hand for the envelope. He set it in her hands with great hesitation and amazing gentleness.

The paper was of the finest quality, and it was a bit heavier than what printer paper would be. That wasn’t including the weight coming from the seal on the front, a coat of arms. A black ‘M’ was centered in silver shield, black dragons on both sides of it, and a ribbon across the front saying ‘ _Vincet Semper_ ’ was also in silver.

“Draco Malfoy, Harry. It’s from a boy named Draco Malfoy,” she told him with a pale face. She looked over to Harry; her eyes flickered to Harry’s scar and then back to his eyes. “I don’t think it would be wise to read it, Harry. I really don’t… Maybe we should just… rip it up?” she asked with a hopeful look; Harry was horrified. His aunt, his sweet, understanding aunt, wanted to destroy his first letter? Why? Why would she do that?

“Why? Why would you want to hurt something so… so… so _mine_?” he asked, words that weren’t in his vocabulary were clearly needed.

“Harry, dear, you must know that the Malfoys are very… Well, they are very dangerous people, my dear Harry. I-I don’t want you to be caught up with them. Please, Harry, I beg you.” She was begging, why was she begging? Auntie didn’t beg, unless she was saving Harry from the worst of his uncle’s anger.

Would his uncle get angry?

Did he care?

No. No he didn’t care. He wanted to read his letter.

“Auntie, please!” he screamed. His aunt had a woeful look in her eyes, and then she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t let you,” she whispered, her hands moved to rip the paper, but as she moved her hands in opposite directions Harry yelled out.

“NO! Stop it!”

The paper wouldn’t tare. Not even a wrinkle, after all the effort she had put into it. She sighed and handed it back to Harry. She knew that it had to be accidental magic, meaning that fire probably wouldn’t help either.

“Please, don’t let Vernon see,” she pleaded softly, Harry nodded vigorously. There was a snowball’s chance in Hell that he would allow his uncle to get his violent hands on his letter; it was the first thing that was really his after all, the rest of it was hand-me-downs from Dudley.

He scampered over to his cupboard, making sure to remain quiet as he shut the door, Vernon would be home soon, and he really didn’t want to mess with him if he didn’t have to.

He looked about the small space for something to remove the wax with. His gaze fell onto a piece of wall that was torn from the structure of the house. It was thin and sharp, exactly what he was looking for. He crawled over to it and, after some intense work, managed to peel it off the wall. It would have to do in place of a fancy knife.

He slipped the thin wood under one side of the letter flap, and slowly, oh so slowly, moved the wood across the paper until it hit the wax. Harry bit his lip and moved the wood so it wouldn’t break the wax. He let out a sigh of relief when the black and silver wax seal didn’t break.

A photo fell from the latter. And to Harry’s surprise, it moved like the shows on the telly. A blond boy, no older than six, Harry’s age, looked at him, waved with a smirk, and then went back to looking at the garden behind him, while tightly clutching a stuffed, silver dragon. Harry looked to the words on the letter itself. The script was cursive and difficult for his young mind to read.

**_“Dear Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived,_ **

**_It is an honor to speak with you; I hope my leter has found you well? I have the most trusted, amazingest, loyalist, colest owl in the world; she’s great and never meses up. A Malfoy wouldnt settle for anything les._ **

**_I know that my father is upset that you kiled the Dark Lord five years ago. I did that arithmancy all by myself! I plan to take arithmancy in Hogwarts, but I doubt I’ll need to take classes, my tutors are the bestest after al, a Malfoy wouldn’t settle for les! Ill be in Slytherin for sure, everybody in my family has. Slytherin is the bestest house after al, it’s luxirius and fancy!_ **

**_You kild my lord, but I forgive you anyway. We should be friends! After al, a Malfoy never setls for anything but the bestest, and you are the most bestest of the bestest._ **

**_I awat your owl,_ **

**_Draco Lucius Malfoy_ **

**_ &_ **

**_Ignis_ **

**_(PS. Can we met in Diagon Alley? At Gingots or_** **_Florean’s? I prefer Florean’s, but if you can find Gingot’s easier than that’s fine. I’m only giving you a choice because mother says it’s polte.)”_**

Being at the same young age as the boy who had sent him the letter, Harry had no problem solving what the words were meant to be, even if they were a bit more complex than he was used to. Yet there was only one thing that really stood out to him… okay, two. This boy wanted to be his friend! He had never had a friend, they all preferred Dudley. Dudley wasn’t all that special in Harry’s eyes, but he was bigger and stronger, and had better fitting clothes (that made his fat look worse in Harry’s opinion), better at making friends, outgoing. On the other hand Harry was shy and not very good at talking to anyone. What if this Draco didn’t like him because he was too quiet? That wouldn’t do at all.

Two, he had absolutely no idea what this kid was on about. Owl? Diagon Alley? Gringotts? Where were these places? Did they even exist? Why does this young boy want an owl to come and bring him his mail (as cool as it would be)?

Harry gently set the letter and picture under his pillow. He didn’t want his uncle to have the slightest chance of finding out about his friend-to-be.

As quite as a mouse, Harry sneaked out of his cupboard and down the hall to the dining room. He looked at the table where his aunt was sitting, still sipping at her cup of earl grey.

“Auntie,” he whispered to her. Her eyes moved to look at his, and then she made a motion for him to go on. “Draco wants to meet me! Me!” he said excitedly. Then his voice dropped in melancholy. “But, you see… he wants to send him an owl. I don’t know if there are any owls in Surrey. And he wants me to meet him in a place called Gringotts. Do you know where that is?”

She gave a hefty sigh. “Harry, if I let you go… You will have to swear that you will _not_ tell your uncle. It will be the only time you are allowed to go. There might be a time later on that I will have to allow you to go again, but… Harry, promise me, you will never speak of this to anyone. I know you will want to, but you can’t. Okay?”

“Of course! I won’t tell anyone!”

“Harry, go write a reply letter. I will take it to the owl. I know where to find one.”

~X~X~X~

Draco moved jerkily in the ball room with a straight back, his mother counting out a three four time rhythm.

“ _One_ , two, three. _One_ , two, three.” She repeated. Draco’s arms were about to fall off, he was sure, he wouldn’t be able to hold up his arms in a waltz position for much longer. He didn’t allow the expiration to show on his face; instead he continued with the taxing dance, the steady staccato of his mother’s counting was the only thing keeping him on beat.

His mother’s voice stopped counting within a few minutes, only to be replaced by the unsteady tapping of an owl’s talons on a glass window.

Draco’s arms fell to his side as he sprinted for the owl.

“Mother, I’ll get it! I’ll get it!” he said excitedly, racing to the owl and away from his dance lessons.

“Draco! A Malfoy does not run. We walk with purpose, dear!” she called out to him. Draco stopped all movement, then stood straighter, nose in the air, pompous air appearing around him like a second skin. He moved with an unperfected grace towards the window and opened in to allow the owl in. It landed on his shoulder, and the pompous air dissipated.

“Mother! The letter’s for me!” he squealed. Narcissa shook her head, but remained silent on the matter of what a Malfoy can and can’t do. Draco unfurled the white envelope from around the owl’s leg and gasped loudly, his mother raised a brow. “I can’t believe it…. Mother, he responded! Harry Potter responded to me! Look at this paper, it’s so white! He must be rich!” He looked at his mother, trembling with excitement.

“Go ahead and open it now Draco. I don’t think you’ll need a letter opener to open that.” Draco nodded. His little fingers went under the small tab on the side, then he slid his finger, forcing open the envelope.

**_Dear Draco,_ **

**_Hello ther, you sem to know me, but i dont know who you are._ **

**_My aunte has told me that i could leave the house tomorrow when uncle has work to met you._ **

**_I don’t know where ethr of those places is though… but my aunti says she knows how to get me to a place caled the Leky Couldrn. Can we meet ther?_ **

**_Please send your reply by normal post, i don’t know where i can get an owl. (My auntie sent this of for me)._ **

**_What do you mean by Boy-Who-Lived? Can you tell me when i see you?_ **

**_Sinsrly,_ **

**_Harry Potter_ **

Draco looked at the paper with a confused look on his face. How could the world’s best wizard not know of Gringotts? What was he doing, living with muggles? What was going on?

~X~X~X~

Harry sat in the Leaky Cauldron, his scar hidden from view by his messy fringe. His sparkling eyes raced around the dark pub, looking for the boy who was featured in the picture he had received with his first letter. His eyes landed on his uncomfortable looking aunt. Her face was set in a heavy frown, and worry lines etched themselves into her forehead, her dull hazel eyes darted about lingering on hunched-over figures with overly-large hoods.

Soon enough the hazel eyes landed on the door leading to the muggle world, looking as if she wanted to run and leave Harry behind, if only to get out of there. She was most definitely about to get up when said door opened and a duo, a mother and child, walked in with poise and grace. Both had stunningly blond hair, aristocratic features, and though their eyes were of different colors, it was easy to see that the boy looked a great deal like his mother.

Harry stood from his seat, looked at the boy, and waved. Gasps were heard throughout the dark place. Who would wave at the Malfoys with such friendliness? A few whispered. Others simply looked at the boy closer, trying to decipher where he was on the social scale.

The beautiful woman, as there was simply no other word Harry could find to describe her, leaned down and whispered in her son’s ear. The boy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree in London. The boy looked Harry’s way and smirked, Harry couldn’t help but feel as if that should be the look that the boy always wore – it simply suited him like liquid silver of his eyes. Harry smiled back when the boy began strutting over to him with an almost-perfected ease; of course one could see where he was moving with more of a jolt than a glide, but it was okay, he had a long way to go before he could walk perfectly after all.

The boy held out his hand to Harry.

“It is nice to finally meet you in person. Please allow me to formally introduce myself,” he glanced at his mother for further instruction. She waved a hand at him. “The name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Harry took his hand and replied. Well he tried to reply, but his aunt stopped him.

“Nephew, I do believe that this boy already knows your name,” she interrupted. Harry gave her a confused look before Draco gasped.

“You live with a muggle?” he looked completely shocked, and slightly disgusted. “U-Uh… P-Potter, I can continue this meeting if she leaves… But I can’t be seen with a _muggle_.”

Many people stopped there gossiping about the familiar wave, only to stand up in shock. People crowded around Harry asking to see his scar, asking how he had done it, where he had been, how he had been, telling him that his parents were amazing people and how they knew them personally, how he looked so much like his father but had his mother’s eyes. Harry was overwhelmed, and in spite of the crowd of people around him, he turned to his aunt.

“Auntie, come to pick me up later!” he shouted over the chatter of the people surrounding him. She nodded with a light frown in place, but left without too much of a fuss. When she had exited through the front door of the pub, Draco grabbed his hand and dragged him out to Daigon Alley.

First the young blond had dragged him off to get some ice cream at Florean’s Ice Cream Parlor. After having what was called butterbeer, Harry was forced to trail behind the blond who was obviously showing off his new friend.

“Where are we going, Draco?” Harry asked when the sun of the autumn day seemed to dim to a dull mustard yellow infested with moldy grey clouds. The shops around Harry were massive and frightening, but still very interesting stock wise. The people around seemed to have hunched figures, or were grace and beauty personified, some had fur growing on them. All in all, Harry did not want to be there.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head, Harry. We’re just going to check on father,” Draco assured Harry. While the raven haired boy so wished that he was, in fact, assured, he knew that even while he was scared he could trust Draco. He hadn’t done anything to spook him yet.

Soon the duo, and slowly trailing mother, arrived at Borgin and Burkes, where a tall aristocratic man was standing intimidatingly. The man resembled an older Draco with less baby fat, and had beautiful long blond hair. Harry reached out to touch it without as much as a thought, but his eyes were momentarily drawn to a cane with a snake head.

 _~You have such beautiful hair, Lucius…~_ Harry whispered in awe as he looked upon the seemingly moon-spun hair. Lucius and Narcissa froze in fear, the way the boy caressed Lucius’ hair was much like the way that the dark lord would when he wanted the Malfoy to do something particularly unsavory. Narcissa shivered a bit – most unbecoming for a Malfoy – for she knew that hissy sibilant of the serpent language. This young boy, the defeater of her lord, spoke Voldemort’s personal language.

Lucius on the other hand, had a similar reason for being frightened. The number of times that string of hisses passed through his lord’s lips he would of course have had it memorized by now. The boy had spoken his name. This young boy who he had never met, and knew had never heard of him, as loathe as he was to admit it, knew his name. There had to be a reason for this. There had to be.

Yet, while the two adults were frightened, Draco had stood frozen in a strange mix of realization and awe. He couldn’t honestly tell if Harry was speaking in the language of the Slytherin line, parseltongue, or not. What he did know was that his lord, the recently deceased Lord Voldemort had spoken that language, and that if Harry really had spoken in _that_ then he _had_ to be related to his lord! It was the only way after all, parseltongue could not be learned; it was born into the family. Everybody knew that.

Harry looked between the three blonds in confusion. They had all frozen for some reason, and it confused Harry. Had he done something wrong? It was obvious now that he was a wizard; his journey through this strange new world had proven as such, so that couldn’t be it. Harry thought about anything that could be different from other wizards, they couldn’t be that long of a list could there? Well, Harry thought, I can talk to snakes… Can’t they all talk to snakes? It couldn’t just be Harry, surely. That would make him a freak. He couldn’t be a freak, his uncle would be right.

He didn’t want to be a freak again. He thought that he had finally found others like him; people who would accept him with open arms, people who he could trust because of the way magic flowed through their veins like it did his.

He didn’t want to be different again.

He would be unloved again.

No one would want him.

It would be better if just died.

After all, it was better to be hurt than rejected and have no one.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered weakly. The frozen parents swiftly became aware of the world once again. Both of them looked to each other subtly, and as if reaching a mutual agreement they nodded stiffly. They looked back to Harry, who now had tears in his eyes. Narcissa stooped down to one knee so she was in front of Harry at eye level.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. You have nothing to apologize for,” she said softly. She glanced to Lucius and Draco, one looking anxious, and the other stiff and controlled. She received a nod from Lucius, and a questioning look from Draco.

“Harry, dear, would you like to come to our house for tea?” she asked him. Harry’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “Okay, grab my hand and we’ll be at Malfoy manor soon enough.”

They were gone with a crack, and the Malfoy men followed suit.

~X~X~X~

“Harry! That was amazing!” Draco shouted gleefully when he landed from the apparition. His joyous face fell when he say Harry curled up on his side looking a bit green. “Oh dear Merlin! What happened are you okay? Harry?!” he shouted in fear. Narcissa laughed and patted his shoulder.

“Don’t worry dear; he’s just feeling a bit sick from the apparition. He’ll be fine in a bit.” Draco nodded at his mother then went over to Harry to put a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Sorry, Harry, I would have warned you, but I forgot it was your first time in the wizarding world…” Draco apologized. It was then that Lucius stood and walked over to where Narcissa and Draco were huddled around Harry.

“First time? He’s Harry Potter, how could this be his first time in the wizarding world?” he questioned. Narcissa took the liberty of answering him.

“Yes, dear. He was brought to the Leaky by a muggle who had been shown it at some time,” she told her husband. Harry rubbed his eyes and then looked to the blond woman. She sighed. “Dear, if it’s okay with you, I think that we should answer some of his questions. I can tell he’s swarming with them.”

“Fine,” Lucius said stiffly. He motioned for Harry to ask away. And so the questions started pouring from his mouth like an endless stream of rushing water.

~X~X~X~

Two hours later had resulted in a tired and bored Draco, and a yawning and sated Harry. Well, almost.

“Say, if I didn’t want to live with muggles, where would I go?” Harry asked with a yawn. The Malfoys exchanged looks.

“Well, if you really wanted to, and you got your aunt’s permission, you could stay with us. We would be okay with raising you to be a proper wizard. _Couldn’t we, Lucius,_ _dear_?” She stressed the last sentence, making sure that Lucius got the point of her wanting to keep the boy away from filth muggles. He nodded to her, his face blank, but his eyes alight with frightened amusement.

“Yes, dear.”

“Thank you…” with a yawn Harry had spoken the soft words and drifted off to a wonderful sleep.

~X~ Six years later ~X~


	6. Phantom of the Opera Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ship Christine and the Phantom so hard. Also Harry and Tom, and like Tom would be the perfect phantom. Almost no work has been put into this. This isn't very good.

Phantom of the opera harry potter crossover

-Tom Riddle plays Erik (Phantom)

-Harry plays Christine

-Draco plays Raoul

-Hermione and Luna play the equivalent of Meg

-Snape plays monsieur Giry

-Remus plays monsieur Firman

-Sirius plays monsieur Andre

-Filius Flitwick plays monsieur Reyer (conductor)

-Dumbledore plays monsieur Lefèvre (Old manager)

-Fred and George play Joseph Buquet

-Ron plays Carlotta

-Ginny plays Ubaldo Piangi

-Ginny and Ron switch between the roles of Ubaldo and Carlotta

~~~~

-“I can walk just fine! I have no need for this wheel chair. *stumbles violently* Fine, I’ll sit…”  (Draco)

-“Well Tom, let’s allow them to believe what they think. I am yours, do not become jealous.” (Harry)

-“I have always thought myself incapable of this trifle called love, but when I first heard you sing… It felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest, like I was floating on air, I felt intoxicated… _*music of the night*_ ” (Tom)

-“I’m scared, Draco… what do I do? What if he takes me and never allows me to return? I’m so frightened… I’ll miss you so…” “Harry, I love you and nothing will ever take you from me.” “Draco… you know how I feel about you, I’m sorry…” (Harry and Draco)

-“Draco! Why did you follow me? You should have run while you had the chance.” “I love you, you know that! I couldn’t allow him to harm you!” “Draco, Tom would never hurt me… he loves me, as I love him. I’m so sorry Draco, but you will always be an older brother to me.” (Harry and Draco)

-“Until these things stop happening then this thing does not happen!” “You newbies are such armatures.” “Ginny! Bring me Scabbers!” “I’m coming brother!” (Ron and Ginny)

-“Well, was it you Fred?” “I’m afraid not, George.” “Neither of us at our posts…” “The curtain dropping on our resident tenorissimo and diva …” “It must have been the ghost.” “He doesn’t like them much.” (Fred and George)

-“I fought so hard to free you!” “I know… and that is why I’m begging you to leave while you are still alive.” (Draco and Harry)

~X~X~X~

The streets of Paris France in the year of 1905 were busy. A carriage stopped in front of an old opera house. There was a ramp leading to the doors, and two sets of beautiful stairs on each side. There were children playing on the stairs and ramp, making the nearly monochrome scene a bit more joyful.

It had been a very long time since he had seen the world in color, a long time since the world was lit up by that smile…

An old man


	7. Harry x Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the first Harry/Tom story I ever tried to write.

Harry x tom

A boy with mess raven hair and striking green eyes sat on an old tattered bed in silence. He would not make a sound, not even responding when a whip came down on his back and broke his tender skin. Two more minutes, and he would be free of this hell hole. He could last that long, easy.

“Boy! How dare you burn the chicken for Dudley?!” screeched his uncle Vernon. The whip descended on the boy’s back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Then the whip froze in the air, right above the boy’s back. The whip flicked up with a crack, and retched its way out of Vernon’s grip.  It twirled in the air for three seconds before stopping and cracking on the whale-like man’s face. The man screamed the moment it touched him.

“Stop this freakishness right now, Boy! Your school will never allow this! You’ll go to that freak prison! Just like your good-for-nothing godfather!” he taunted.

_CRACK!_

“Never speak of Sirius, you repulsive muggle!” he yelled. “You never knew him!” _CRACK!_ “Don’t act like you know him, or any of us _wizards_!” The boy had uttered the forbidden word. Anything associated with magic was taboo in the house of biased muggles.

“Harry! Stop it!” yelled a new voice, the voice of Harry’s cousin, Dudley Dursely. He was like a younger form of his father, fat, muggle, and absolutely repulsive.

_CRACK!_

“Yes, Dudley?” Harry asked innocently, but the look in his eyes resembled the killing curse in more than one way.

“Stop-” the fat boy began, but he was cut off by a vase hitting his head. He fell to the floor like an abused rag-doll.

“So sorry. But I would like to enjoy this.”

_CRACK!_

Vernon was breaking, tears were streaming down his face, and his back was bleeding heavily.

“How long do you think it takes for a person to bleed to death?” Harry asked his whimpering uncle. “I think an hour… but that would be too long wouldn’t it. I bet you ten _sickles_ that it’ll take ten minutes or less.” Harry said. The whip wrapped itself around the fat throat, Harry just laughed madly.

“You won’t get away with this!” hissed a voice from the floor. Looking down Harry noticed that his cousin had woken up and crawled over to him.

“ **Accio wand!** ” Harry whispered. A wand flew through the air and landed in his open palm. “Oh, dear cousin of mine, I don’t think you know how long I’ve wanted to use this _spell_ on you!” Harry turned around for a moment, and then turned back with an even crazier look in his eyes. “ **CRUCIO!** ”

 Screams racked the air along with laughter and moans. Harry bit his thumbnail and squirmed while watching his cousin writhe on the floor in agony.

“Gods. I understand why Tom likes this spell so much…” A moan fell from Harry’s lips. “Damn, I could get off on this.” Waves of pleasure beat throughout his body.  He dropped the curse with a gasp.

“ **Sectumsempra!** ” Harry shouted, his wand pointed at Dudley. “Have a nice death. Good bye Vernon, please die painfully.”

With that, Harry Potter left the house for good. A whispered **incendio** and the house went up in flames.

~X~X~X~

Harry nearly skipped through Diagon Alley. It was nearly abandoned at this point, not that he cared.

His goal after all was to go find Voldemort, but he didn’t know how well that would work out. He didn’t know where the base of operations was at after all.

Then he was grabbed from behind and was forcefully apparated away from the alley.

~X~X~X~

“Flouncing around Diagon, Potter? I had thought you had more sense,” the Dark Lord sneered. Harry laughed.

“I do have sense Tom, I was looking for you. Thought being out in the open where I knew you would kidnap me would make finding you easier.”

“Well, it was a bad choice! **AVADA** -” the Dark Lord began.

“No! Wait! I have information that you’ll want!” Harry yelled.

“Oh?”

“I think I might be one of your Horcruxes,” Harry said gently. The Dark Lord froze.

“You are all dismissed!” the Dark Lord ordered. He then looked to Harry. “Are you, Potter? And how would you know?” he asked the boy.

“Well, Voldemort, I’m a parseltongue. And Dumbledore said that when I killed you some of your powers were transferred into me. After a bit of research I was able to put the pieces together.” Harry told the pale man smoothly. The serpentine man walked over to Harry and placed a finger under his chin. Harry gulped as the finger dragged up his jaw, forcing him to look into the scarlet eyes.

“ _You speak parseltongue, Harry?_


	8. With the Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets into the cos and he sees Ginny dying. He totally freaks out then sees riddle. He’s distracted by riddle and Ginny dies. But riddle is very persuasive, and gets Harry to join him instead. Harry tells Ron he couldn’t make it in time. Ron refuses to talk to him, but Draco agrees that that is unreasonable because he would have to fight a basilisk, which would take time, and he should have died. Draco replaces Ron and Hermione is torn between harry and Ron. She chooses Ron in the end leaving harry in a fit of despair, riddle and Draco help him out of his depression. Dark!Harry. Riddle figures out Harry is a horcrux after he starts speaking parseltongue. TMR/HP.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one came with a summary, wowza.

Harry ran as fast as he could, trying desperately to get to the chamber that lay ahead. He knew that he would find the basilisk there, and he would put a stop to its reign of terror before someone died.

As he entered the vast chamber he noticed none other than Ginny lying on the ground, her face pale, her fiery hair seemed to be the only contrast to the green tinted grey scale of the chamber. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was near nonexistent. Next to her lie the diary, and in her hand was a quill.

“Bloody hell…” Harry gasped. He fell to his knees next to her body, his wand falling from his hand. His eyes roved over her checking for injury. He found no sign of hurt, but she was cold, colder than ice.  “Ginny, Ginny! Oh no, please don’t be dead!”

Then a boy stepped from the shadows. When Harry looked over he gasped.

“Tom? Tom Riddle?” he asked. “Are you a ghost?”

“No,” Tom replied smoothly, “I’m a memory. Preserved in a diary for fifty years.” Harry stared at him then looked back to Ginny.

“Tom, we have to save her! There’s a basilisk!” Harry said, exasperated. Tom smiled lightly.

“Won’t come until it’s called. I promise,” he told Harry, his smile never wavering. When Harry looked at the other wizard in confusion he noticed that he had acquired a wand. _Harry’s_ wand.

“Give me my wand.” When Tom made no move to do so Harry tried again, “Tom, my wand. Give it to me. _Now_ , Tom.” The memory laughed.

“Why should I? You won’t be needing it anyways. When Ginny dies, I’ll kill you, or I’ll just find a way to make you forfeit this little game. Then I’ll have enough power to get out of here just fine. I’ll be unharmed, and I’ll have dealt with Voldemort’s little problem,” Tom said with a tone that should be used for talking about the weather outside on a nice day. “As the heir to Slytherin I’ll be able to continue Salazar’s noble work with you gone.” Harry backed away, and Tom advanced on him.

“I-I thought that Voldemort was after your time, he couldn’t _be_ you,” Harry gasped. Tom laughed at him.

“I am indeed Voldemort, Harry. And you defeated me, destroying my hard work. It was all destroyed by a mere babe! You have no amazing magical power, I can tell now. I thought you would have, the way Ginny prattled on about you. It was always ‘Harry this’ and ‘Harry that’.” Harry shrunk back as far as he could into the wall Tom had backed him up against. Then the older wizard ran a finger down his cheek slowly.

“What do you want with me, Tom?” Harry asked with a snarl.

“What do I want with you? I want _everything_ regarding you. For quite some time now, I’ve decided to look into why Ginny would have such a fixation on you. After all, her obsession with you became mine soon enough,” Tom whispered as he moved his mouth to Harry’s ear. “Who do you think came up with that poem? I was even kind enough to mock you. I’m sure you enjoyed that didn’t you? Being mocked in front of everyone,” he licked the outer shell of Harry’s ear. Harry gulped. Harry moved his hand to try and take his wand back from Riddle, but the other was too fast.

“And what makes you think I’ll give into you? That I’ll stand for what you’ve done?” Harry asked in rage.

“Oh, Harry. You’ll find that I can be very… persuasive. Ginny did as I told her to, opening the Chamber of Secrets, writing the messages like a good little girl. She was a perfect, loyal, obedient _dog_ ,” he paused, then continued to speak, “Looks like you’re out of time, Harry,” Tom hummed in amusement, his eyes trained on Ginny’s unmoving form. She was dead. Harry hadn’t saved her. Everyone would look down on him now. Everyone would blame him for her death.

“What will I tell everyone?” Harry wondered as he sank down to the floor. His eyes were wide with fear, not of the dark wizard in front of him, but of everyone’s reactions when he got back. _If_ he got back.

“That it was an accident. That you couldn’t save her because you were preoccupied with the basilisk. Who could blame you for trying to save your own life?” Tom asked. Harry looked at him. Would that work? “Let me call for my precious pet, she’ll take care of you. Then you can have proof that you fought her. Oh wait, you’ll be dead. At least then you won’t have to worry about anyone else’s judgment of you.”

Tom turned to look at the statue centered in the back of the chamber.

“ **Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four!** ” Tom hissed out in parseltongue. He looked back to Harry and, in English, said, “Good luck.”

Harry gulped and looked towards the massive snake slithering out of the statue’s mouth before closing his eyes, not wanting to fall prey to its deadly stare.

“ **Stand down! Please!** ” Harry begged. Tom’s eyes widened and he threw out his hand stopping the serpent. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“ **You speak in the tongue of serpents, Harry? How did you acquire this ability?** ” Tom asked urgently. Harry shrugged, his eyes still closed.

“ **I’ve always been able to do it. Ever since I can remember,** ” Harry told him. Tom looked at the shivering boy, when a thought came to his mind.

“Harry open your eyes,” he commanded gently. Harry’s eyes opened a fraction before closing again, seeing how close Riddle was. “It’s fine Harry, please open them.” This time Harry completely obeyed and his eyes opened, then his mind was invaded. The memory of his parents dying forced tears to spring into Harry’s eyes. Tom stumbled away.

“Bloody hell…” Tom cursed. When he recovered, he swiftly made his way to Harry and hugged him close. “Good god, I can’t believe I tried to kill you,” he whispered into Harry’s hair. Harry on the other hand was frozen in shock and confusion. Why was this monster hugging him? Didn’t he want him dead? Not now apparently.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I never should have… please don’t be mad at me. I didn’t know. I didn’t know! I can’t let Dumbledore try and kill you; I know he will when he finds out. Harry come with me. I promise to protect you, I promise to let no harm befall you. Please I beg of you!” Tom begged.

‘Well,’ Harry thought, ‘that’s out of character…’

“Why should I? You’ll just try and kill me before I-“ Tom cut him off.

“No. No, I would never kill you. I will never hurt you, you understand me?” Tom asked, his eyes bearing into Harry’s soul.

“How can I trust a monster like you? You killed Ginny, and my parents, and so many others. There would be no way to earn my trust,” Harry told him. Riddle had to restrain a smirk.

“Harry, I’m about to be the only person that you will be able to turn to. After all, there is no dead basilisk, you have no proof that you couldn’t get to Ginny in time. _You_ will be blamed for her death. I can get you out of here; I can save you from your fate above the chamber. I know of another passage to get us out,” Tom took a breath. “Unless, of course, you would like to face the girl’s many brothers?” Harry was so conflicted. What should he do, what was right, what was the best option?

Voices came from the opening of the chamber.

“You didn’t close the entrance?” Tom asked, Harry shook his head.

“No, but there’s a block in the tunnel. A part of it collapsed…” Harry mumbled. Tom gave him a curious look, but made no move to ask about how the collapse had happened. The voices got louder. Steady calls of ‘Harry! Harry I made it through!’ echoed around the chamber.

 “Yes, please get me out of here, Tom.” Tom smirked and grabbed his wrist before standing up. He tugged lightly before swiftly walking to the statue; Harry had no other option than to follow. When he glanced back he saw Ron, gasping for air due to the running. Then the red-head’s gaze fell onto his dead sister, he directed his course to her.

“Ginny! Ginny! Harry, how did this happen! Why is she so cold? Ginny!” Ron cried violently. Harry urged Tom to move faster when Ron’s cries reached him. Ron turned to look at Harry who was just entering a tunnel in the statues mouth. Ron lunged at Harry in a fit of rage. The red-head grabbed his robe collar and shook Harry hard.

“Why!? Why didn’t you save her!? Why are you running away?!” he screamed in rage. Harry laid one of his hands on top of Ron’s, then reached out the other to smack him. The ginger stumbled back in shock.

“I’m sorry Ron. Had I been able to, do you really think I would have let her die? No, I wouldn’t have. But I’m not Mister Miracle all the time! Sometimes you’ve got to save yourself before you can think of others!” Harry responded with controlled fury. Tom had been right; no one would ever look at him the same.

He would have to leave Hogwarts.

Otherwise he was sure the accusation of murder would follow him forever.

Tom would help him, keep him safe.

“Tom, let’s go. Please.’

“Of course, my precious little Horcrux.”

Then they left.

No one would ever really think back on it too hard, besides one particular Wesley that had been there in the Chamber when Harry had disappeared.

Of course there would be people who wondered whatever happened to the renowned Boy-Who-Lived, and those who would want to find him. Yet something always stopped them from their searches.

~X~X~X~

Years later, when the second youngest Wesley was in his seventh year, something amazing happened.

Ron was once again contemplating the moment he had lost his best friend to some unknown man who had been in the Chamber of Secrets with his dead sister. His eyes had yet to regain that mischievous spark, his smiles were far and few between, and still his mind never left that moment down in the bowels of Hogwarts.

A violent tremor rushed under his feet, causing him to trip. He stumbled back like that day so many years ago, and fell down.

“What was that?” he asked no one. Another tremor forced itself through the school. Ron stood up and began to run to the entrance hall. Surely he had been the only one to feel the vicious shakes.

When he got there he noted the large quantity of students staring through the open doors.

There stood his ex-best friend and the man from the Chamber.

“Dumbledore, it’s been awhile hasn’t it? Did you miss me?” Harry asked with a cocky smirk. The man behind his wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist.

“Harry, red-head nine o’clock,” Tom whispered into his ear. Harry nodded as his eyes easily slid from the headmaster to the boy staring him down with huge eyes, disbelief written on his face. Tom threw them to the ground suddenly, and a green spell streaked above them.

Oh, right, they were criminals. Dumbledore was going to kill them.

Harry rolled out of Tom’s hold and grabbed for his wand, and then pointed it at the fearful students. He cast a protection spell over them, as it was obvious that Dumbledore wasn’t going to. The he shifted targets to the old man himself.

“Time for you to go down, old man!” Harry shouted. His eyes were aglow with anger and sadistic glee. A violent green light came from the side just as Dumbledore stepped back.

This was going to be an unfair fight, two against one.

But since when did Harry or Tom care about being _fair_?

“Prerje shpatën,” Tom purred, his wand glowed a dim red color, and then a spinning sword was by his side, prepared to cut down the man in front of him.

“Grisje dhunshme!” Harry yelled, the seemingly innocent pink color of the spell was anything but. Lacerations littered Dumbledore’s body when the pink light had hit him. While Dumbledore wobbled lightly due to the impact of the spell a red light whipped at Dumbledore, and the man screamed.

This was far too easy, what was going on?

Tom and Harry hadn’t taken a single hit yet.

Did the old man have something vicious up his sleeve?


End file.
